The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree

“This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.”

It was somehow the most tedious and tense summer Connie could remember experiencing since she had taken up the post at Hogwarts and, far from counting the days until she returned to the energizing bustle of the school she was instead filled with unease about whether she would even be able to. Hogsmeade was inaccessible for the likes of her and even if the Ministry saw fit to free up train space for the children not already trapped there to make the journey back to school she doubted the Headmaster would lower his boundary for mere children. And that was assuming the Ministry had managed to get any hold on the situation by then: the fog had spread rapidly so perhaps it would recede just as quickly? But where had it come from in the first place?

It was a ponderance at the forefront of Connie's mind as she idly wondered the museum in the faint hope of distracting herself from worrying thoughts of what her friends were enduring. With them on her mind she had no passion for travel, as was her usual custom during the summer, and so she found herself stuck in the sweltering heat of a London summer, finding refuge anywhere she could. Thankfully the airy, high-ceilinged rooms that held the relics of witch hunts were blessedly cool, even if the contents were troubling, but Connie barely saw them as she wondered.

The one thing that did catch her eye, however, was the back of a familiar blonde head leaning close to a plaque on the wall Connie dreaded to imagine the contents of. She wasn't entirely sure this was the best place for the girl in question but her smile twitched to life for the first time in days as she reached the girl's shoulder.

"Miss Scrimgeour, we may not be in school but I still feel I should ask where your chaperone is?" She asked without any censure and a deal of amusement in her voice.

While the rest of the magical community was off planning their own funerals (or so she imagined was the sudden fog invasion), Holly was doing as she did most summers before she'd gone to Hogwarts: wandering the streets of magical London in search of any source of entertainment, her nanny in tow. They'd gone to the museum today after Holly had complained that they'd been to the library three times this week—something she wouldn't have complained about if she'd finished the books she'd checked out.

The museum was the perfect place for a child like her to wander off, yet this time it was mostly unintentional. She'd wandered across the room from her chaperon (who had been eerily enraptured by one of the art pieces, Holly thought) and made it found a mysterious plaque to waste her time discerning.

The voice of Madam Sykes was a distinct one at this point, and one that caused her to immediately whip her head around. A smile spread on her face, but it slipped the moment she realized her chaperon was no longer in place.

"Why should I know? She's supposed to be my keeper, not the other way around," she responded with a cheeky, Holly-esque grin. "I prefer your company to hers, anyways."

Connie’s smile grew as she took a step closer, leaning in to get a clearer look at the, frankly, not even slightly age-appropriate content. The muggles of the middle ages had not been kind but Connie had to applaud them for their inventiveness when it came to torture devices if nothing else. The Scrimgeours and their sort probably thought they were all still like this. It would certainly explain a lot.

“I’m flattered. Though it doesn’t seem especially stiff competition,” she replied dryly, placing a gentle hand on Holly’s shoulder to steer her away from the devices she certainly did not need to know the purpose of. Really the Museum oughtn’t to have things that upsetting on public display!

“Be that as it may I’m very glad to see you weren’t caught in the fog. Are the rest of your family safe?” She asked cautiously, not having heard much about the more notorious Miss Scrimgeour since she had received a letter from the girl by her side.

Holly allowed herself to be steered away from the device, mostly because she was determined to show Madam Sykes that she was not an argumentative little brat. She figured she'd come back to finish reading the plague once the house matron left, though admittedly some of the vocabulary was foreign even to her.

"Well, you're my savior for the afternoon nevertheless. I'd hate to be seen without—" She let out a mock-gasp. "—a chaperon." Not that anyone would likely make ill assumptions about a girl her age.

As they began to pass by other exhibits, Holly's attention was split between the questions and the odd sights before her. Behind the glass pane seemed to be a mummified gnome; Holly quickly moved one from that one.

"My immediate family is safe. I have cousins who are in Hogsmeade, but I don't know them well enough to care," she explained bluntly as she came to a halt in front of one of the glass panes. She scrunched her nose at the sight—a partially-unwrapped mummy! "That's disgusting. Where do they even get those?"

July 14, 2018 – 12:21 PM This post was last modified: July 14, 2018 – 12:22 PM by Constance Sykes

Refusing to laugh openly at the girl’s utter facetiousness – though she did so in the privacy of her own mind – Connie was reminded that though she loved her job now there was still a small part of her that missed the closeness that sometimes formed with her charges when she had been a governess. Less children meant she was able to spare more of her time and she rather thought girls like Miss Scrimgeour needed the attention – and were an amusing reward in their own right.

“The Egyptians practiced very different customs from us but I suppose after thousands of years in the sand even the most beautiful thing can look a tad unbecoming,” she replied thoughtfully, though Holly was absolutely right. The sight of mummies had never disturbed her unduly but the sight of something that held the shape of a person but with only the dried, dark remnants of what had once been flesh to cover the visible bones was certainly unpleasant. The mania for Egyptology had shown them many wonders but Connie felt queasy and unsettled by the sight. Would this be what they all came to in the end? On display, mouths agape in a silent cry to be buried and left be, with children wrinkling their noses in disgust.

“Shall we find somewhere to sit? I feel like tea and as your newly appointed chaperone I suppose I ought to feed you.” She smiled conspiratorially as she placed a hand on Holly’s shoulder and drew her away. Why on earth did they let children in this museum anyway? It was nothing but horrors from one room to the next!

Holly didn't care whether their customs were different; a culture who could partake in such uncivil traditions could not have been in any way equal to the more modern British. She would rather dine with a poor British muggle with a grasp of etiquette than an Ancient Egyptian wizard who would quickly wrap their dead in gauze like this. Gross!

"As long as we sit far away from these -" she said, motioning towards the decayed corpses, "- I would be more than happy to dine with you. I've longed for a familiar face from school." Apart from Camille, who had the unfortunate quality of being able to appear when she was least wanted (which, now, was almost always).

Connie quickly located the refreshment tables and ordered, thankful that they were far from the room they had just come out of and unsurprised to find that there was scarcely anybody else here. In fact, she glanced around, other than the indolent servers they were the only ones and she felt another pang of sympathy for all those people stuck in the village, not knowing what was going to happen next.

“I only hope that we both get to return to Hogwarts in September,” she had begun to worry, but surely it would not come to that? The Headmaster might not like other people being in the castle but without them he might have to find some other occupation and thus would not be able to glare at students and be rude to his colleagues: he would surely fight to find a way for everybody to return, even if the fog remained? “From what I’ve heard you need fog lamps to see a foot in front of your face,” she smirked as she lifted her tea, but managed to catch herself and force her face into sternness. “Although it would stop unfortunate skirmishes between students so would make my life easier.”

Holly followed Madam Sykes towards the table, caring very little that her chaperon was nowhere to be found; it wasn't as if she was wandering around in the company of a disreputable woman - this was the Slytherin matron! The mention of Hogwarts (or rather, the possibility of not returning) was enough to make her chest tighten.

"What, and go to Hogwarts without being able to use magic?" she pointed out, her brows knitted together in frustration. "What's the point of going to school then? Do textbook lessons instead?" She'd be condemned to study Herbology and Astronomy forever, then!

It was a daunting prospect and not one Connie especially fancied having to navigate come autumn, but at least she would not have the worst of it – Merlin knew what the teaching staff would do with a hoard of teenagers who were irritable and denied their gifts. And that was assuming they could even access the castle…what would happen if the fog reached it? Would the stairs even work?

“As far as I know the magic at the castle is still working,” she sipped her tea and modified her voice to utter neutrality, hiding her deep dislike. “The headmaster is holding the fort, so to speak.” Loathsome man: she would say he was enjoying the discomfit of others if she thought him capable of the emotion.

Holly released a sigh of relief, but her features remained hardened. Even if the castle was protected from the fog, there was no telling that it would stay that way—and there was nothing more loathsome than the prospect of being trapped in the castle, magic-less, surrounded by restless students who had not yet learned to mind their own business.

"For now," she replied grimly, bringing to teacup to her lips but not yet sipping from it. "I hope the Ministry manages to resolve it. I would be most unhappy to have my school year interrupted by limitations and strict schedules," she nearly grumbled, her bottom lip jutting out into a pout.